Sinking into the Sand
by waltz2
Summary: an anthology of sorts: iii. choke: he kisses his cheek before they go to bed. /doflacora; canon-verse
1. hands (canonverse)

_sinking into the sand_

an anthology of sorts: collecting all my noteworthy donquixote doflamingo/donquixote rocinante drabbles from tumblr and posting them on here. drabbles might be canon, might not, might be interconnected, might not. content is questionable, but that's half the fun. really.

i. hands: rocinante muses over doflamingo's hands.

: canon-verse, explicit incestuous content, ft. a guy who got his brains blown out. this one didn't need to be polished up and off, so it was the easiest one to post first.

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" _Fufufu..."_ Doflamingo chuckles lowly as he playfully presses the pistol against the whimpering man's temple. It's meant as much as a tease as a threat and the cold metal of the barrel trails along to the gaunt of the man's cheek.

His index finger swipes over the cylinder in an anticipatory reflex, the movement akin to a match being stricken. Corazon crosses his arms and falls back against the wall, cradled by the feathery mass of his coat. He doesn't know what to focus on: the deadlock his brother has on the man's shoulder or the hand that holds the pistol. His eyes narrow when Doflamingo drums his fingertips into the guy's shoulder, one by one, automatically. _effortlessly._

Doffy coils around the man until his face is but a hairbreadth from the man's other cheek. His words come from the grinning chasm of his mouth.

( _death doesn't have lips_ )

"Y'know someone once told me.. _Oh_ , I don't really remember who, but who cares? Anyway.." Corazon can't tear his gaze away from the fingers curled over the man's shoulder. "Someone once told me a bullet through his cheek is the most painful thing that's ever happened to him." They move to the cadence of Doffy's smooth voice.

"But a guy with a bullet wound in his cheek might be _ugly_." Here he directs the barrel back to the man's temple. Corazon feels something sink to the bottom of his stomach as his eyes inevitably fall back onto the hand that holds the gun.

His older brother sounds so sensual, so promising and his fingers reflect the melody of his voice, of his intentions. "A man with a bullet through his brain is just _dead_." His lips curl into a menacing smile, to show off his teeth and his gums and that small flash of tongue that Rocinante _fears_.

( _death only has teeth._ )

Corazon dips his chin and feels his makeup crust and crack rusty red as his mouth thins into a straight line. His hat falls lower over his forehead and presses his messy bangs against his skin. The man starts stammering the combination of a safe, starts to plead for his life and _he has a family and a wife and three kids_. Baby 5 begins to laugh and clap her hands when Doffy nods along the nonsense as if he gives one single _fuck._

He wants to shield her eyes. _doffy's index finger curls over the trigger._ He doesn't.

 _"Come here, Corazon."_ _His older brother beckons lazily, one index finger crooked out in invitation._

 _He stumbles upright and staggers over, almost collides into Doffy. Hands come to ghost over his hips, settle on his flanks. Rocinante thinks the imprint of those palms are going to be burned into his flesh forever and his breath hitches and gets stuck to the inside of his cheeks. He presses their foreheads together as those fingertips press down. Their mouths are so close, but Rocinante can only feel his hands._

 _He wants to close his eyes._

 _"Corazon..." Doffy murmurs playfully as he grins up at him, exposes his teeth and gums and a flash of..  
_

 _He doesn't and watches himself in the purple glass of his brother's shades, getting closer._

 _"My precious little brother." This isn't meant as an endearment, this is a leash and it's being yanked.  
_

 _Rocinante feels his hands more urgently than he feels his lips, feels the soft nudge of his teeth sinking into his bottom one._ (death doesn't have lips. death doesn't have lips. - _his mouth moves against his brother's._

death _only_ has teeth.)

"What do you say, Baby 5?" Doffy begins humorously as he lets go of the man's shoulder and clenches his fingers reflexively. "Are we going to crack a safe?" His tone of voice is even as if he didn't just blow a guy's brains out.

Baby 5 cheers and skips over to her young master's right leg, latching onto his knee with her slender arms. She nods up at him, completely disregarding the blood and brain matter and the pieces of skull, the dead man on the ground and his dry open eyes.

"Corazon, come over here. We're going." Doffy extends his hand to him as he says this. His fingers look unblemished, clean safe for the specks of gunpowder.

He regards his older brother's hand and pushes himself off the wall.

( _feels a hand down his lower back when he's at his older brother's side. rocinante wonders if he's trying to wipe off blood on the back of his shirt.)_


	2. sub rosa (canonverse)

_sinking into the sand_

ii. sub rosa

beneath the rose - something done in secret.

explicit incest, introspective!rocinante; slight nsfw and a dubious relationship at best.

 _i hereby disclaim any rights_

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Sensuality has always come so naturally to his older brother and every time he catches a glimpse, his tongue would be soaked through with a bad taste.

But his heart would drum impatiently against his ribs, reminiscent of a rhythm strummed by slender fingers upon his flank. Softly at first; a kiss to the nape of his neck, a swipe of tongue, a love bite lovely and glaring red ( _mine mine mine_ ). Impatiently then; buttons opened, more skin, more touch, more Rocinante to be exposed to a hungry gaze and a hungering mouth.

It's in the little things ( _the devil hides in the details_ ) where his brother's sensuality manifests itself. In the way he tips back his head to finish his glass of summer wine, with the column of his throat on display and with the sleeve of his button-up sliding down to show off his wrist. Rocinante observes and notices how these small fixations of his shred his insides apart, always a bloody red and uncomfortably warm.

Brutality has always come so easily to his older brother. He voices his name ( _Doffy_ ), in a wordless whimper when he gets fucked into the mattress. White scars emphasized by dark marks, haphazardly dented into the patchwork of his skin. His arms are stretched out in front of him.

Doflamingo holds him by the hips, the throat, the heart.

( _but the next day, he will adjust the collar of his shirt and pretend it never happened._ )


	3. choke (canonverse)

_Sinking into the Sand_

third drabble: choke

another one of those spur-of-the-moment drabbles. blatant incest and slight nsfw, ft. biblical undertones and references to murder. doffy's in a dress too.

 _I hereby disclaim any rights_

i.

Three minutes to four and the cold curt click of his door falling shut resounds uncomfortably loud in the confines of his bedroom. Rocinante trembles through the aftermath, trembling toes and trembling thighs.

It's never warm enough, because Doflamingo never bothers to adjust the covers when he leaves.

And he never minds the covers when he comes either.

ii.

Sometimes his brother looks so stunning, his throat closes up and his brain shuts down. And whatever air he gasps for would choke him in the end. So his teeth clank together when his jaw snaps shut and that's the only sound he makes.

Doflamingo idly plays with the right strap of his dress, idly crosses one leg over the other. His profile looks regal, from the angle of his jaw to the sharpness of his nose. Sunlight falls onto him, glows him golden and untouchable.

"How do I look?" Such a question doesn't need posing. He is godlike in pink silk.

But Rocinante can't disregard the hole the bullet tore through the fabric, nor the frame of dried blood around it, nor could he forget the poor woman's face when Diamante shot her.

His brother tilts his head and looks over at him, grinning wolfishly, with a dab of tongue swiping over his teeth. He casually props his elbow on the armrest and sinks deeper into the recliner.

Rocinante doesn't want to notice the woman's dead body on the floor anymore.

iii.

He pulls the dress over his brother's head and he touches his neck and the defined structure of his collar bones and his sternum and he touches his ribs and the dip of his spine at his lower back and his sharp hipbones.

There's a faint waft of perfume stuck to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, like a love bite or a memory. It reminds him of whorehouses, overpowering and with a sour sweetness. Like rotten pomegranates with sallow yellow seeds.

Doflamingo is seated on his lap, with his long legs folded around his waist, his hands cradling his jaw. He chuckles at him and kisses him, fully, wholesomely.

To Rocinante, a chokehold would've been kinder.

iv.

There's a semblance of their mother in his brother's face. Something about the slope of his nose and shape of his eyes that's so breathtakingly familiar, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Three to four and he slips off to the bathroom, retching and dry heaving above the toilet. Thoughts like these are damning, perhaps more so than the things he's done to his older brother.

Or is it: _that what his older brother allowed to be done to him?_

He doesn't know who's doing who anymore.

v.

There is no ichor running through their bloodstreams.

But whatever Rocinante is swallowing down right now tastes even better than godhood, than apples. He looks up at his brother, who digs his nails into the armrest and tilts his head back and bites his bottom lip subconsciously.

Afterwards, he helps washing Doffy's feet and ankles, before _f-u-c-k-ing_ him in the cold marble bathtub until his knees bruise and his skin has goosebumps.

He kisses his cheek before they go to bed.


End file.
